The Lock

*A/N* You know when you really want to make something right and do something really complicated and then someone tells you "Why didn't you just do that?". Yeah. That was the basic idea behind this. Another early update since I'll be really busy the next week. Have fun!

And another big thank you to you guys for your lovely reviews and your continued support! Especially Blue Obsidian Butterfly, sakura-blossom62, The Path of Supreme Conquest and SomeKindOfFan who have reviewed almost every (!) of the 28 (!) chapters. Can I just say I am immensely proud of 120 (! ! !) reviews?


It really hadn't been that hard a task, she thought angrily and poured herself another cup of coffee. And that Daniel Atlas of all people would screw up something someone else - someone he supposedly cared about - had entrusted him with was fairly improbable anyway, bordering on unthinkable.

She shook her head and curled up on the sofa with her steaming cup. She'd lost count of how much coffee she'd already had - probably too much, going by her slightly accelerated heartbeat and that odd light-headedness, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

It wasn't just that he'd forgotten - hell, she didn't really care he'd forgotten, she'd just asked for a European padlock to train with, probably a matter of five bucks or less. No, the point was that he'd thought of everything else, even Jack's favourite ice cream.

The point was that she knew how he would have reacted if it had been her who'd forgotten the lock - come on, Henley, you had one job. How hard can that be. Thanks a lot, now I'll have to drive all the way just for a stupid padlock because you couldn't be bothered to do the smallest thing for me.

Yep, she could totally hear it. But if Mr Atlas did wrong, it didn't matter. A simple "sorry" was all she would have asked for really, but he'd just looked at her, cursed and disappeared to God knew where.

It was so typical.

.

An hour later when Jack and Merritt came back from "training" (aka running around the city, pickpocketing people and then trying to slip their possessions back into their pockets without them noticing in Jack's case and playing Sherlock Holmes in Merritt's case), she was still sitting on the couch, the incident already almost forgotten, with a headache that made her seriously regret her coffee binge.

She'd probably been making a scene -

God, she was being an awful, cliché girlfriend. She'd never wanted to end up like this.

"Where's Daniel?"

She shrugged and returned her eyes to the book.

"Seriously, you don't know?"

Though meant to be a joke, Merritt's question made her frown. He was right - that was odd. Because as much as Danny got on all of their nerves with his constant obsessing over where they were going, with whom, for how long, for what reason… As annoying as he was, in that case he lived by his own rules. Even if nobody cared, even if nobody wanted to know - Danny always told them where he was going. (Especially if they really didn't want to know.)

She checked her phone - nothing. Henley's frown deepened and she wondered whether she shouldn't call.

"He's rubbing off on you, sweetheart," Merritt said, clearly aware of what she was thinking, mock worry in his voice. "Told you he wasn't good for you."

She stuck out her tongue at him and pushed the thought from her mind.

God beware - even if she ended up only halfway as clingy as Daniel could be, then that would still be far too much for her to live with.

.

Half an hour later, she caved in and called.

No one answered the phone.

If she'd been confused before, then she was seriously worried now - Daniel was practically married to his damn phone.

.

Another thirty minutes later, she dialled his number again, but still reached nothing but the mailbox.

You have reached the phone of J. Daniel Atlas, leave a message if it's important.

Henley had forgotten how much she hated this voice recording - seriously, she knew nobody who could come off as arrogant as this on their sodding mailbox.

.

Another hour, another two calls.

Henley put the phone down and cursed.

Jack, who leaned in the doorway, threw her a sympathetic grin and handed her a cup of tea. "I tried, too," he informed her. "Either he's ignoring all of us or he really hasn't heard-"

She grimaced and took the cup from him. "That phone is never out of his reach, Jack, as in never. I honestly doubt that he doesn't hear it."

It was true - Daniel kept the phone in his pocket, at night it sat on the bedside table, never further than an arm's length away from him. It was almost as if he could feel if there was too much distance between him and the damn thing.

The pickpocket frowned at her. "Are you pissed 'cause he's ignoring you or are you thinking that…"

"Something happened?" Henley shrugged and played absent-mindedly with the book in her hands. "At the moment it's sort of both."

"I'm sure he's okay. I mean, what should happen to him?"

He threw her an encouraging smile and got to his feet again. They both knew the list was shockingly long - the FBI, police, just some random guy that Danny had (involuntarily) insulted, traffic, a whole lot of other ridiculous accidents that could only happen to a guy like Daniel…

It was a long, long list and she did her best to ignore every single point on it.

.

.

Henley had fallen asleep on the couch, the book still on her lap and less than a hundred pages the wiser.

She woke with a start when the door fell shut behind him. He looked a little worse for wear, brown hair a downright mess and that tired look he always had when he'd been driving.

"Where have you been, Danny?" she demanded, getting to her feet. "It's ten to eleven. I called six times."

"Yeah, no need to sound so accusing," he gave back, hands raised in mock defence, looking slightly surprised by her reaction. Sometimes she wondered how this guy had survived so many girlfriends when he clearly had no idea of women at all. "I took three hours to find an Irish guy willing to sell me the old padlock to his garden shed."

She didn't quite grasp the words at first. "What?"

"I got your lock," he declared, smiling proudly, and threw her a rusty padlock and a key. "That guy had me pay five bucks for the old thing even though I gave him a new one, I mean, how much is it even worth, three?"

"Three hours," she repeated incredulously.

"Minus the driving time."

"Three. Hours."

"Yeah, I just said as much."

"Whatever for?"

He shrugged, looking a little confused that she didn't get it. "I promised I'd get it for you and I forgot, and when I realised that the shops had already closed and…"

A grin fought on her lips even as she shook her head at him. "You couldn't just get it tomorrow, could you?"

He frowned at her . "I promised," he insisted.

"And that kept you from answering your phone?"

"Kind of," he answered. "The phone slipped underneath the seat and got stuck somewhere, couldn't reach it. The ringing was really annoying," he added with a slight laugh.

Henley rubbed a thumb over the battered lock and smiled. "Next time, just tell me you forgot and apologise, okay?"

"Next time? Next time you can get the bloody thing yourself, sweetheart," he scoffed.

She rolled her eyes, placed the lock gently on the coffee table and pulled him close by his jacket. "You're such an incredible idiot, Danny, really…"

"One can't make things right for you at all, right?" he muttered with a slight smile.

"Wouldn't wanna make things too easy," she replied, grinning back, and kissed him.


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